Welcome to
the FICTION page!
NEW FLASH FICTION!
THE AZURE ASSASINS
and the
RAVAGED RED BULL
by Michael Allen Pierce
© 2023 M. A. Pierce
TORO ROJO’S hardened hove clawed the sandy surface of the packed bullring.
Four matadors in electric blue dress, flashed blood red capes to taunt the Taurean Titan into battle. Toro, the red bull charged forward, attacking the crimson capotes before him as the flanking fighters stabbed bright blue feathered barbs into the thick meaty shoulders of the advancing beast.
Toro turned with a leaping twist, whipping his horn passed the left side assailant, who ducked the defending slash with a backward bend as the other three simultaneously pinned a second set of insults to undefended flesh. The crowd roared in opposing support,
“KILL HIM! KILL HIM!” Mewed the malicious mob with downward thumbs.
“FIGHT THEM! FIGHT THEM!” The contrarians chanted, shaking balled fists.
The bullied bull delivered a rearward kick that staved in the hollow chest of the malevolent matador who back-stabbed his right haunch. He launched forward at the agile aggressor who jabbed another spiked flag into the berserking bovine’s fatty neck, followed by two more piercing blows to his mid-back by ambushing adversaries. He bucked and gored his assassins with an unyielding frenzy, whirling and pivoting, whipping and parrying against their perpetual punishments.
The Emperor of Entropy, slumped smiling on his throne with the Skeletal Queen at his side.
A cackling crow perched on his padded left shoulder as he checked his clock, then leered with sadistic pride as four black masked henchlings in matching garb, grabbed their flattened cohort, and dragged his crumpled carcass into a darkened doorway. Out of the same dank den, a ready replacement reinforced the rapacious razzia.
A wave of three murderous militants in ghoulish green garments, emerged from a trap door in the arena floor, twirling deadly daggers in each hand. They joined the ensuing melee as the murderous matadors dodged the defender’s counter strikes, driving continual clusters of debilitating darts into the valorous victim’s vermilion veneer.
“DEATH BY FORTY-SIX CUTS!” Howled the master stabber, waving his crimson cloak and throwing a steely spike at his prey that flew end over end until its forward flight ended in a wet thud as it burrowed into the thrashing beasts hardened jowl.
Four by four the brilliant blue flag-pins multiplied on the behemoth’s back and belly, bobbing and swaying as streams of hot red life escaped in pulsating fountains from ripped penetralia as the spinning longhorn stopped suddenly in a stern stubborn stance.
Steam puffed from flared nostrils creating a humid misty veil between he and the advancing ‘Twin Blade Trio’ who balked, bewitched by the great bull’s benumbing glare. The four matadors stood back and rallied in respite, and gathered more pins for piercing.
A human-sized white rabbit wearing a purple bow-tie, danced around the arena, entertaining the anxious onlookers while the battle paused.
The settled dust was kicked up again when the beleaguered bull barreled toward the new arrivals, who fanned out before him brandishing six bristling blades of blame. Toro targeted the center stab-master and lowered his rack, aiming the point of his right horn at the hairy heart of the shocked warrior.
Two clean blades dropped to the dust as the dagger dancer’s body was impaled and flung violently airborne before it nose dived like a shot up crop duster, spewing red frothy trails from his torn fuselage that fell like rain as he struck the earth with a splintering snap.
The raging gargantuan received two stinging wounds behind each shoulder from his flanking foes, and responded with a harsh thrashing of his broad long horns that knocked both attackers to the ground. They were immediately trampled into the muddy, bloody morass until man and muck were one.
Two pins-men assaulted Toro’s aft quarters with four more piercing abuses, but were strongly rebuked by two powerful hind legs that thrust both abusers with deadly velocity into the stadium wall. The two vanquished violators slid down the wall in jumping jack poses, leaving two large red stains to mark spot of their final heartbeats.
The two remaining matadors froze in terror like rabbits spotted by a hawk, and the worn out warrior bull dropped to his belly, heaving heavy blasts of bovine breath into the death laden dirt. His massive superstructure bristled with forty six darts and daggers that rendered the appearance of a Jurassic porcupine. His coat was variegated with reticulated vertical streaks of dried blood and foamy lather.
All were silent and all that was heard were the labored breaths of the battered bull that whooshed like a giant bellows desperately fanning a dying flame.
The entropic Emperor, crossed the ring of death, escorted by the Skeletal Queen and Champion White Rabbit, who guided him to the face of his formidable foe. The tortured Toro summoned his last refuge of strength and raised himself on four solid hooves.
The Emperor of Entropy examined his enemy’s saffron visage, that glowed like an orange ember in the yellow arena lights. The mumbling monarch uttered an unintelligible remark through a serpentine smile. Toro drew a long cool breath then blew it out of flaring nostrils like a hot blast from a fiery forge.
The cackling crow, cawed from her perch on the high-back throne, as the Champion White Rabbit handed a silver spear to the craven king, who mistook it for a staff, until he was corrected, then awkwardly pointed the tip at his adversary.
The ravaged red bull glared defiantly under check-mark brows, his jaw set forward and clenched in determination. Cobalt eyes simmered and stared into the vapid azure orbs of the vacant villainous viper king, and he gored the ground three times with his right hove.
A bald eagle circled overhead while nine ragged ravens repelled the cackling crow, and usurped the vacant throne.
The charlatan Caesar consulted his watch and sighed,
“Thirteen minutes to midnight…”
THE END…
for now...
SERIAL FICTION
DIVISIVILLE;
A Dismal Documentation…
EPISODE 1 ~ The Wandering Sage
by Michael Allen Pierce
© 2023 M. A. Pierce
THE golden glow of a lantern hung from the hooked crook of a tall staff, held by a cloaked lank figure. He walked westward on the darkened; Dead River Road, that wended through a dour dense forest of lofty leering pines and oppressive ominous oaks, whose towering tyranny deprived the route of any light—day or night. The figure wore no hat, and his silver hair tumbled down his back to his waist, like water over a rocky creek bed. His long leathery visage was veiled by a belly length beard, and deep wise hazel eyes peered stoically under straight, bushy brows that descended toward the center in sharp obliques, terminating at the bridge of a strict angular nose.
The tall traveler was accompanied by a small slender female-feline of medium brown fur, laced with black tiger-like stripes, and piercing emerald eyes, he called, Perception, who circled his steady stride, and darted in and out of the lantern light, inspecting the outer void in erratic intervals. Perception came to him over five ages ago when he was a child, and has never left him. Ahead of the traveling duo, a ragged raven rested on a distant bough, calling them forward in an anxious caw.
“Perception, I fear we have embarked on an endless journey to an unknown destiny.” proclaimed the old cloaked figure, “Lo, that tattered black-bird on yonder bough has taunted us onward for seven days and nights now, ever since we stepped out on the Old Straight Road, from our humble hamlet. I fear that the further we travel, the farther we get from our goal. Oh, how I miss our tranquil township… how I long to return to Beyond Here, to the placid Pond of Pure Enlightenment, and its tranquil tributaries of Truth. Oh, how I long to listen to the lectures of the Wise Elders in the Garden of High Thought, or lay and meditate in the high graceful grasses of Mindless Meadow. What was it that urged me to depart from that sweet paradise… have I lost all reason? Why am I compelled to go where the ragged raven flies?”
His cat companion spun about and reversed her gait on the path before him, keeping pace with his stringent strides as she fixed her emerald gaze on the old man’s eyes,
and replied,
“Wise old Sagax, it was the lectures of the Elders, the reflecting in the, Pond of Pure Enlightenment, and the meditations in the Meadow that awakened your wanderlust. If we were to return to Beyond Here, you would again, long for the distant horizon, as you did for the many years prior to our departure. Embrace the journey. It was you who told me that fear fills in where knowingness is absent. It is my perspective, that this raven is a diviner by flight, and has answered your call for direction. Thus far, he has led us with great reason. He has steered us from danger, and guided us to safe haven and sustenance. I sense that we are being led to a great purpose and a perfect destination.”
The road ended with their conversation and the two now stood at the base of the tall red pine where the raven perched above. Before them was a wide, swift moving river that made no sound, with a rickety narrow bridge that disappeared on the far fog hidden bank.
“Caution!” warned the raven, “We are at the Silent River. It can only be crossed by the one way bridge. Once you enter the bridge, there is no turning back.”
“What lay on the other side, reasonable raven?” Sagax asked.
“The other side, of course. Once you cross the bridge, this side will be, the other side.” answered the raven, then he pumped his great wings and propelled himself across the river, disappearing in the foggy curtain on the other side.
Sagax and Perception exited the bridge on the opposite bank, and were greeted by their guide, who lit in a nearby oak in the fork of the road, glowing like wet onyx in the midnight moon.
“Welcome to this side!” cawed the raven, “Our destination is nigh.”
Sagax looked behind him and noticed that the bridge was gone. Only the wide rushing Silent River remained… there was no turning back. He looked to his left and beheld a long wide and well maintained highway that wended upward easily, lined with green lofty pines and regal rest stops dotted in close proximity along its moonlit way. To the right was a narrow twisted trail shadowed by pathetic mutant pines, choked by tangled thorny vines. He approached the trail head, and through the gaps in the scraggly wood, he noticed the dull dour dim of civilization in the near distance and started toward it in earnest, proclaiming excitedly,
“Lo and behold! A quaint village lies yonder! Verily we will find decent food and lodging!”
“Beware the flame that attracts the moth, only to burn her on arrival.” quipped the raven.
“Reasonable raven, your warning is valid.” Sagax responded, “However, I recall a lecture from the High Elders, in which they warn us that the easy way leads to comfort, convenience, stagnation and a meaningless death, whereas, the hard road leads to suffering, overcoming, temperance, and a meaningful life… I choose to brave the hard road.”
THE END… for now...
DIVISIVILLE;
A Dismal Documentation…
EPISODE 2 ~ The Forked Road of Fate
by Michael Allen Pierce
© 2023 M. A. Pierce
IN the time after time, in the ancient enclave known for too long as, Divisiville, a murky muriatic mist materialized between the saw-toothed granite peaks of the surrounding Mendax Mountain. The melancholy moon arced insidiously behind the hastily retreating sun, casting cold lugubrious lines of lunar illumination, that washed away the waning warmth of another wistful day in this desolate domicile.
The village voices of vitriol, were exhausted from cursing the long cold winter, and excoriating those who labored to relieve them of it’s crippling effects. In their time of respite, a paralyzing peace had plagued the restless villagers for too long, so they gathered in the public houses and eateries to gossip, lie and malign each other until all peace was purged from their presence. The imbibers raised their ire with every hoist of their mugs, slurring slanderous suppositions from their mordant maligning mouths, and belching bombastic blasphemies into the balmy ether.
The gluttons gorged on forkfuls of false witness, expelling gaseous guile and vile vitriolic vapor into the acerbic air.
The slightly several, silent and restful ones, hunkered in their hovels, muttering meek mantras to the Spirit of Truth, and praying for Peace to prevail over the mendacious malignancy that mocked their moral minority. This tiny tribe were the toilers for the community collective, and caught between the restless ones and the governing faction, constantly complimented and criticized in controlled cynical cycles. Most of them lived away from town, scattered on the somber slopes of Mendax Mountain, save for the nine members of, The Volunteer Council of Fault by Default, who had sequestered themselves in the bunker beneath, The People’s Palazzo, since the sinister snowfall of the forgotten century.
Within hours, the atmosphere over the village thickened in a humid hateful haze, and the town was darkened by the opacity of obverse obstinance that raised up from town center, and rolled outward like a noxious brown mushroom cloud over dismal Divisiville, pushing out the pesky Peace, and restoring the restless chaos and entropy that earned the town its nefarious name.
* * * * * * *
Sagax the wise old wanderer and his cat called, Perception, stood at another fork in the trail at the edge of the tangled twisted woods. Once again the leftward way was a benign and beautiful bypass, lined with fragrant wild lilac and lupine. Straight ahead beckoned the entrance to the main thoroughfare that ran through the commerce center of Divisiville. The raven perched atop the faded street sign that read; ‘AVARICE AVE’ and croaked another warning,
“Take caution, wise Sagax! The souls of this citadel are hostile to outsiders. It would be reasonable for you to avoid this place and seek sojourn among the restful ones on the fringes of this dismal den of delusion.”
“Raven of reason, I respect your concern for our well being, however, I must overcome my fear, and surely I shall with my perfect Perception and the Lamp of Perpetual Light. Furthermore, I require a well prepared meal, a hot bath and a restful sleep in a proper bed.”
Without awaiting rebuttal, Sagax started down the eerie avenue, obscured by a dark diaphanous mist that mocked the light from his lantern. He cringed at the pernicious proclamations that permeated through the open windows of the dens of debauchery, puffing out into the pall of mendacious mist that covered the town in a cloud of vile and vehement falsity. A sickly whimpering dog dashed across the street, chased by a team of large gray rats adorned with pretentious fake bling. One insolent rodent, wearing lens-less black-framed sunglasses, stopped abruptly in front of Perception, lifting his lens-less shades to his forehead and glowering at her with a malicious grin before darting off to rejoin the pursuit. Perception was immediately unnerved by this encounter and leapt up to the safety of Sagax’ shoulder, clutching his thick purple cloak with all of her claws, and she hissed in the old man’s ear,
“This is a dangerous place… the raven was right!”
“Where are you headed, strange traveler?” asked a sharp male voice through the foul fog.
Sagax looked to his left to see an undefined figure leaning on the wall under an ornate sign that read; ‘CHALET’ DELUSIONARIUM ~ est., Forever-Ago’ then the man stepped out to greet Sagax and his companion. He wore a tarnished tin top hat with a wide black stripe down the center and a black leather patch over his right eye. Greasy auburn curls dripped down to the collar of his garish islander shirt and he wore a wiry goatee that framed his thin lizard-like lips. He sauntered up to Sagax in silent rubber black sneakers over gray ankle socks that matched the color of his creased cargo shorts. He glared at Sagax, with a steel gray narrow eye set beside a thin spindled nose and raised the brow over his only bulging orb and spoke through spiked teeth,
“Salutations good stranger, I am the Merchant, Deceptio Mendax. I invite you to take lodging in my humble establishment… the cat and light excluded of course.”
“Good greetings to you, Merchant Mendax. I am Sagax, of Beyond Here. Am I to understand that my lamp and feline familiar are unwelcome to take respite in your ‘humble’ establishment?”
“No offense meant old man, but you must see how an animal would violate the health laws and your flaming light could pose a certain fire risk! The cat will be fine out here with the other beasts and you can relight your lamp after you check out—what do you say, new friend?”
“Hear this, Merchant—this is the Lantern of Perpetual Light, it was handed down to me by my father, Vigilax ~ The Watcher, and has cast its light since the time before time—it can never be doused.”
Deceptio winced and shielded his eye from the glaring glow with his porcine hand and tapped his sneaker on the base of Sagax’ staff and said,
“We don’t allow weapons either, your stick will have to be stowed in my armory.”
“This, ‘stick’ is the Staff of Knowingness, it was fashioned by my Mother, Vivus and consecrated by the High Elders, to carry the Lamp for my journey. I shall not part with my feline friend, my Lamp nor Staff. Verily, there is an inn on this avenue more hospitable to travelers such as we, thank you kindly for your offer, however, we shall seek sojourn elsewhere. Goodnight.”
The Merchant giggled through his gargoyle grin as his stubby thumbs tapped on the smudged screen of his Microdigiphonic Textro Blastration Device and dryly quipped,
“We’ll see, sassy stranger! No hairy hobo with a crappy-arse cat, will refuse my generous hospitality! You’ll bivouac in the bushes before you bed anywhere on this thoroughfare! I own every shop in this village… it was my fore-father, Avarice Mendax, who founded this old enclave. You and your crappy-arse cat will soon taste my power and influence, old vagabond!”
The doors and windows of the eateries and drinkeries, regurgitated a rapacious rabble onto the cobbled Avenue. A band of bulbous bodies barreled toward the two trembling travelers, throwing half-eaten fatty morsels at them while puking putrid pejoratives through gravy stained malodorous maws. Scandalous soused snobs slithered through swinging saloon doors, slurring slanderous slop and slinging foamy froth at the Lantern of Perpetual Light. The Merchant now stood on the balcony over the menacing mob, cajoling them with contempt,
“Show these ingrates to the end of the avenue! Show the silly Sage and his shite-arse cat the way to the wasteland! Let’s see how long your lamp stays lit in the coming storm!”
Sagax stood frozen with Perception on his shoulder, gripping tightly to his cloak and hissing at the platoon of pernicious poltroons pushing in on the perimeter of the cone of golden light, that engulfed them like a bead of amber oil in a swirling pool of brackish water.
“I fear we are in a perilous predicament…” remarked Sagax in a worried whisper.
Perception purred into the old Sage’s ear,
“Fear is the matter with the matter of perception…”
THE END… for now...
DIVISIVILLE;
A Dismal Documentation…
EPISODE 3 ~ The Hermit of Mendax Mountain
by Michael Allen Pierce
© 2023 M. A. Pierce
SICKLY streaks of lunar lament, died in the puffy pall that persisted over the sinister situation on Avarice Avenue, in the dismal dominion known forever as, Divisiville.
Sagax, the wandering Sage, with his companion cat on his shoulder, held tightly to his hooked staff that hung the Lantern of Perpetual Light. Freakish faces flanked them fully, glowering at them through the luminant layer of golden radiance, that proved to shield them from the encircling mob of malicious malcontents, who pressed around the glowing dome in constricting concentric circles.
From the balcony of the Chalet Delusionarium, the Merchant, Deceptio Mendax, croaked his contemptuous commands,
“Get at them you loyal lot! Put out that loser’s lamp and push them off to the wild wasteland!”
“For the first time, I am frozen in indecision!” Sagax remarked.
Perception, wide eyed, ears back and fur up, offered her perspective on their perilous predicament,
“The lamp light seems to be impervious to lies and hatred, try moving forward. Head for this wasteland they push us toward—it is my perception that we are safer there than here!”
Sagax stepped forward and the golden globe of Perpetual Light moved with him like a radiant shield of conical amber armor. The hateful horde of humanity clung to the luminous cone like flies on a windshield, until the Lamp’s heat of honesty expelled the lying lice, only to be replaced by a mass of mendacious mosquitos, soon to be baked off by the bug zapper of Truth and Light.
The trouble resistant bubble protected the two tormented travelers as they advanced down Avarice Avenue toward their unknown fate in the wasteland that awaited them. Like a burning bulb through the viscous vapor, they seared a path to the edge of the avenue, leaving the seditious saloonsters stalled at the street’s asphalt edge. The Merchant burst through the harangue of howling henchlings, shaking a white plastic saber in each hand and shouting, “Flee, you dirty derelict with your flea infested feline! Enjoy your exile in the stormy wild wasteland—and ram that rotten lamp up your roving rogue arse!”
A dim flash of libelous lightening lit up the cumulus core of the mendacious brown thunderhead, followed immediately by a dull rolling roar that ripped the murky air above Divisiville. Green globs of glib guile and gossip, gushed from the cloud of contempt, causing the pursuing posse to take cover in their dens of delusion. The dour droplets of deception, drenched every surface of town, save for Sagax and Perception, who remained safe and dry under the umbrella of Perpetual Light that proved impenetrable to the scurrilous inundation.
* * * * * * *
“Where do we go from here?” asked Sagax, looking around at the only visible ground within the lighted dome. He took another step away from town, scraping his knee-high mule-eared boots in the bramble and thorny thicket that choked the tangled terrain. Perception held fast to the shoulder of Sagax, her front claws driven deep in the wide emerald green collar of his thick purple robe. Her acute vision caught glimpses of skulking slugs who slithered to sinister safety as the encroaching light exposed their erroneous existence. Sagax planted his Staff of Knowingness in a rodent hole and secured the base with ragged recalcitrant rocks.
“I can see naught beyond our lighted spot!” Sagax said in frustration, “We have no choice but to wait out the storm here. We will continue our journey in the morning.”
The weary old wise one scraped at the wicked weeds with his boots in a futile attempt to clear a space to hunker down.
A stinging chill froze the earth beneath them, creeping up the old wanderer’s legs. Sagax shivered and pulled his robe tightly around him, sighed and said,
“I fear a frigid fatal fate should we remain here any longer…”
Perception perked up and her ear swiveled with swift machine-like precision and she purred,
“Fear not old friend for I perceive the distant call of the Raven through this dismal downpour. He beckons us again to heed his reason. Make haste!”
Sagax strained his ear to the far-off caw of the Raven of Reason, and gripped the sagacious Staff of Knowingness that leapt from the cold cursed ground in anticipatory flight, leading him toward the sound of the black bird’s repeating report. The Lamp of Perpetual Light intensified it’s glow but could not break through the oppressive opacity of the slimy rancid rain that persisted around them. The Raven’s voice became clearer and closer as Sagax, with Perception still riding his shoulder, crunched through the knee-high sage and thorny tangle of vicious vines and stinging nettle. Sagax felt his staff settle abruptly, and breathing heavily, he ceased his jogging. The Ragged Raven broke through the amber veil of light and lit on the crook of the Staff of Knowingness. Sagax looked up at the bird in delight, rejoicing,
“Oh, good Raven, I am so happy we found you again!” said Sagax with glee, “You have been a fine guide and companion, do you have a name wise bird?”
“I am Reason. I have always been with you...but you have not always been with me.”
“Forgive me, Reason. I shall not doubt you again. Where you lead, I will follow.”
Reason led the weary pair up the sinister slope of Mendax Mountain on a straight and narrow pathway, lined with lofty dense pines on either side. The climb seemed forever to the tired travelers, and the relentless rain splattered in sickly splashes outside the cone of light. Mendacious mud crusted in heavy clumps on the boots of the exhausted Sagax as he slogged through the puddles of prevarication that overflowed and slithered down the slopes in sour sorrowful sheets. Finally his feet met level ground and he paused to rest.
“Hither, old Sage!” cawed Reason from the nearby darkness.
Sagax walked toward the black bird’s call, and his lantern revealed Reason perched on a weathered wooden fence post by which a short narrow sagging gate was latched. A sign hung crookedly on the gate with faded orange paint that read;
‘WELCOME TO THE CABIN OF DAYE ~ Home of Percival and Avia Daye’
* * * * * * *
Sagax and Perception stepped through the gate and into a bright beautiful spring morning paradise. The dismal downpour was replaced by a brilliant blue sky. Birds, bunnies, deer, bear, squirrels, chipmunks, dogs, cats, flowers, fruit trees and vegetable gardens flourished and occupied every visible space. Sagax stood in awe and Perception launched off of his shoulder with great excitement, heading directly to a group of felines sitting stoically on the cobblestone walk that led to a tall towering cabin built of dark pine logs and cedar shingled roof. A slender middle-aged man with long straw colored hair, strode out of the main door of the cabin wearing a wide white smile, a red and gray flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and dark green corduroy trousers tucked into calve-high beat-up brown leather boots. He stepped over the congregating cats and stopped in front of Sagax and said,
“Welcome to the Cabin of Daye, where darkness never finds its way. I am the Poet, Percival, you’ll find me kind and merciful. Accept my hospitality, and words of rhymed reality.”
“Thank you for your kind welcome, good Sir. I am Sagax, from Beyond Here. That is my feline familiar, Perception and we were guided here by our raven friend called, Reason.”
“I am well aware of Reason, he visits here all season,” quipped the kindly host as the ragged raven flew to him and lit on his shoulder. He gestured to a garden of massive multi-colored rose bushes that towered like trees over a petite woman surrounded by tiny chirping songbirds that flitted about her while she pruned.
“Avia, my wife, is the keeper of life… on birds and flowers her love she showers.
Her gardens grow in the dead of snow… their buds in bloom melt winter’s gloom.”
Her medium brown hair was drawn back in a single braid that hung mere inches from the ground. She wore a bright yellow sleeve-less smock over a saffron sundress. She turned her perfect profile to meet the awe struck face of Sagax, and fixed her sky blue gaze upon him as she offered him a ripe red unfamiliar fruit. Sagax accepted the luscious orb without question, and took a modest bite. He immediately sensed a warm radiation expanding within his core, a feeling of permanent well-being overcame him, and he was transformed. He was no longer tired nor hungry, but excited and ambitious.
“I thank you both ever so kindly. I am overwhelmed by your gracious hospitality and I am forever in your debt. I am ready to continue my journey, to where ever my destiny awaits.”
Percival laughed heartily and replied, “Ascend the slope to the hollowed hold. To make the climb, you must be bold. Your journey has no path nor trail, and many have tried to no avail. Stinging winds and wild sounds, forced past spelunkers to turn around. Beyond the winds and sounds you’ll see, the way to an arcane acclivity. An oak marks the entrance of the cavern you seek. Take safe refuge on this high granite peak. There you’ll be safe from the tumult below, to witness them harvest the hatred they grow. Keep a vigil on Peak Perspective, to observe without action is your only objective. The light in your lantern is forever alive, lighting the way for when Truth will arrive.”
* * * * * * *
Sagax with his trusted Perception, followed Reason upward and onward, hammered by the treacherous torrent and blinded by the dense deceptive darkness. After another near eternity, the two mountain climbers broke through the foul brown cloud of mendacity and found themselves on a short level ledge facing a high vertical wall of jagged granite boulders.
“Up hither! Welcome to Peak Perspective!” coached Reason who was perched atop a stony spire at the top of the craggy cliff.
Perception examined the seemingly impossible route, then without further hesitation, she launched herself up to a tiny protrusion, pivoted and leapt again to another small outcropping. Upward she went in a zig-zag pattern until she disappeared over the high craggy crest. Sagax tightened his hold on the sentient staff then inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. The Staff of Knowingness warmed in his grip, and rose upward, lifting him to near weightlessness. Without a thought, he traced the route of Perception, scaling the steep rock-face like a mountain goat until he landed on a flat granite slab with a large ancient oak tree growing out of the cliff’s crest, where Reason now perched. The large patio led to the entrance of a cavern where Perception was already curiously inspecting. Sagax found a hand hewed tree trunk table and a wicker rocking chair with plush green cushions. In the floor next to the chair was a perfectly bored hole in which Sagax instinctively inserted the Staff of Knowingness. On the table he discovered an untitled brown leather bound book of blank pages and a fountain pen. He opened the tome to the first panel and wrote;
‘Written herein are the observations of Sagax ~ The Hermit of Mendax Mountain.’
THE END… for now...